


Corps à Corps

by neveralarch



Series: Attaque Composée [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sports, Fencing, M/M, Panic Attacks, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-22 23:30:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16607477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: "I don't think it's very respectful," said Sideswipe. "Treating Screamer like he's made of glass."Wheeljack's coaching a youth Grand Prix, while Starscream is in a completely different venue coaching a senior event. Everyone talks to Wheeljack about Starscream anyway. Everyone.(Part four of the Transformers Fencing AU.)





	Corps à Corps

**Author's Note:**

> I was absolutely convinced I had already used this title for a Doctor Who fic, and I'm very glad I was wrong.
> 
> This fic is part of the [Attaque Composée](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1026729) series, and won't make much sense unless read with the previous fics in mind. For most of the fics, I've opened with a little 'primer' on tournament formats or fencing actions, but there's nothing super new in this one (although there are a lot of bouts). [Here's my favorite sabre supercut instead.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CrpdXteHKxY)
> 
> This fic contains physical violence, including jostling/brutal fencing during a youth fencing match; drinking; vague discussion of dysfunctional and abusive relationships; kissing; panic attacks; confused (and largely undiscussed) power dynamics; and lots of poor coping mechanisms and bad anger management. I think it's canon-typical for fencing and a little lighter than Transformers canon. Please let me know if you need more details.
> 
> As always, please note that none of the events or characters in this fic are meant to depict events or persons in real life, and the characters' thoughts are not always my own.

**Wheeljack:** all ok?

 **Starscream:** It's fine.

 **Starscream:** Don't worry about me. Do your job.

 **Wheeljack:** i'm multitasking

Wheeljack waited two kliks, but there wasn't a response. At least Starscream was tolerating the check-ins, even if he wouldn't take the bait and give Wheeljack a distraction. Wheeljack looked around the venue instead, taking in the clusters of fencers, coaches, and referees. The eerie lull between the end of the classification pools and the beginning of the direct elimination tableau. 

Do your job. Wheeljack didn't have much of a job to do, at the moment. He just had to sit and wait.

It was kind of weird to be coaching for Cybertron at a Grand Prix. Wheeljack had coached for Caminus a few times last season, just as a personal coach. Windblade had painted the Camien sigils on Wheeljack's armor herself, while she tried to complain about Starscream's ban without actually saying that Wheeljack was a poor substitute.

_"You're great!" Windblade painted another delicate line down Wheeljack's back. "I always appreciate your advice. But Starscream recruited me, you know, and it's so good when you have that connection—"_

_"Yeah," said Wheeljack. "I get that."_

_"At least you don't have Starscream's temper." Windblade pulled her brush away, but remained at Wheeljack's back, out of his sight. "I couldn't believe he_ threw _that chair. And I don't believe that he meant to miss."_

_"Turmoil used to be a Decepticon, he knew what was coming if he picked a fight with Starscream." Wheeljack would've shrugged if he wasn't worried about messing up the new paint. "He was probably expecting worse. Starscream's calmed down a lot over the last few vorns."_

_Windblade laughed. "I don't think I want to know what Starscream was like before he calmed down."_

Now Starscream was back, and coaching for Velocitron at the senior grand prix that the Galactic Fencing Federation, in its infinite wisdom, had scheduled to perfectly coincide with the youth grand prix. Lower senior and upper youth today, upper senior and lower youth tomorrow. Separate events, separate gyms; same city, same cyber-week. It was supposed to make travel easier. Mostly it just gave the coaches anxiety as they tried to choose between the events.

It'd been an easy choice, for Starscream and Wheeljack. Wheeljack couldn't even remember discussing it.

Wheeljack scuffed the new Cybertronian sigil on his chest plate. The last time he'd worn it had to be... Primus, back when he was still fencing. At some satellite tournament, a little smaller and less prestigious than a real grand prix. Cybertron had sent Deadlock, Skywarp, Sideswipe, Wheeljack, and some neutral none of them wanted to talk to. Wheeljack had stenciled on the blue Cybertron sigil and then underlined it with bright frag-you Autobot red to differentiate himself from his Decepticon 'teammates.' Sideswipe's suggestion. Sideswipe had started a bunch of arguments with the Decepticons before the tournament even started, and Wheeljack got to play back-up, trying to look serious even though he figured the whole 'war' was basically a joke. Just a dumb way the rival clubs tried to add spice to the humdrum rhythm of competition.

He'd said something to that effect to Deadlock, while Skywarp and Sideswipe were holding an honest-to-Primus arm-wrestling competition in the hotel lobby. Deadlock had looked so mad, the maddest, started growling something about privileged Autobot dilettantes, like anybody had given Wheeljack a single thing since he'd come online, and then there’s been a commotion in the lobby when Skywarp stopped grinning and tried to rip Sideswipe's arm off...

"Ground control to Wheeljack, come in Wheeljack." Sideswipe's hand landed heavily on Wheeljack's shoulder.

Wheeljack shook his head, trying to clear the stray data out of his RAM. "Did they post the bracket?"

"Nah, still assigning referees." Sideswipe sighed. "It's supposed to be automated."

"They always say that." Wheeljack shrugged. "Then they spend a joor moving everything around because they don't like what the computer came up with."

"Didn't you write this software?" Sideswipe squeezed Wheeljack's shoulder. "Can't you go up there and just—"

"They're using Brainstorm's system," said Wheeljack. "You can complain to Megatron."

Sideswipe made a face and dropped his hand. "I can't believe he's slumming it over here in youth division. I know Starscream's at the senior event, but it's not like he's even coaching for Cybertron."

Wheeljack was sick of this conversation, but he'd had it so often he’d memorized his lines. "Maybe Megatron likes coaching youth."

That had worked as a conversation-ender for Blurr, Rattrap, and some referee who Wheeljack was sure he didn't know but was convinced Wheeljack would want to 'chat' anyway. It didn't work on Sideswipe, because Sideswipe had never let a single thing go in his entire life. He just patted Wheeljack's shoulder and said "playing dumb doesn't suit you."

Wheeljack didn't appreciate Sideswipe's tone, but he moved on to the next line anyway. "Maybe Megatron's trying to be respectful." 

Sideswipe made a disgusted noise. Wheeljack didn't know if it was meant for Megatron, or for the concept of being respectful toward Starscream. It could be both. This was the part of post-war fencing Wheeljack liked the least. Being on the other side. Realizing the rivalry wasn't a joke, even if there wasn't a real Decepticon club anymore and about fifteen different clubs claimed _they_ were the real Autobots.

Seeing all the ugly parts of his friends that they used to keep for their enemies.

"I don't think it's very respectful," said Sideswipe. "Treating Screamer like he's made of glass."

Wheeljack looked across the venue, to where Megatron was looming over the Lost Light fencer who was probably going to win lower youth division tomorrow, and had a good shot at winning upper youth division today. The kid was hardly paying attention to Megatron. Unlike every single coach or referee around them, every one of whom had their optics glued to Megatron's back.

If Wheeljack was talking to someone he'd trusted, he'd say:

_Look, maybe it is respect. Not respect like you mean it, not respect from one mech to another. But respect for something that could be dangerous. Megatron's afraid of what will happen if he gets too close to Starscream, pushes him too far again._

_All Turmoil did was be a rude fragger and accuse Starscream of some nasty slag while Starscream was trying to work, and Starscream had a meltdown that ruined his season but also ruined Turmoil's career. Of course Megatron's going to treat Starscream like glass. Glass cuts you when it breaks._

But Wheeljack didn't trust Sideswipe like that anymore. He didn't really trust anyone enough to say all of that to them. Maybe Windblade, if he thought Windblade would understand. Maybe Starscream, if he thought Starscream was in a good enough place to talk about it. Hadn’t happened yet.

“You’re off in orbit again.” Sideswipe chuckled. “You can’t spend your whole life thinking, Jackie. What happened to that explosive attack? The unpredictable defense?”

“Taught it to the kids.” Wheeljack rolled his shoulders back and got up. There was finally a tableau notification flashing in the corner of Wheeljack’s HUD, telling him to get his processor back in the present. "Bracket's posted. Come on, let's go to work."

\---

Stageflight was sitting with a gaggle of other youth fencers, chattering and giggling and completely oblivious to the fact that they were about to be called to strip. Upper youth division was an odd age for interplanetary competition. Some of the fencers took it seriously, already making plans for the Galactic Championship when they came of age in a few dozen vorn. Other fencers still acted like the sparklings they practically were, screwing around until the officials finally lost patience with them.

Stageflight was kind of in between—she was already fencing upper youth in regional Cybertronian events, but she was on the young side even there and it was showing through. Right now she was making faces at a couple of Eukarian fencers, then snorting when they made faces right back. At least she was having fun, and she came quickly enough when Wheeljack called her designation.

In fact, Stageflight skipped up to Wheeljack, optics bright with excitement. “Where did I end up? Who am I fencing? Are we doing it now?"

"You can check your HUD yourself." Wheeljack waited patiently while Stageflight did just that. He could tell she'd found the results when her wings drooped. 

"You said I did okay!" wailed Stageflight. "And now I've got to fence _Asbestos_?"

"Hey, you did well for your first interplanetary competition." Wheeljack patted Stageflight's helm. "You won a couple bouts in pools, you made it past the initial cut, and now you get to fence someone really good. It'll be fun."

Stageflight's wings perked up again. "I mean, Asbestos isn't _that_ great. She's only ranked, like... sixth in the galaxy?"

Wheeljack nodded encouragingly.

"If I take her out, does that mean I'm ranked sixth?" Stageflight gasped. "Do I get one of her medals?"

"No, but you do get to move on in the bracket," said Wheeljack. "That's the real prize, so you better start getting ready. What do you know about Asbestos?"

"Uh... she's from... Caminus?" Stageflight bounced up and down on the tips of her feet, waving her arms to get the energon flowing.

"And what does that tell us?"

"She fences like a shorter, less interesting Windblade?"

Wheeljack probably should've used more diplomatic language when he was explaining the various planetary styles to Stageflight, but too late now. "And how do we fence shorter, less interesting Windblades?"

Stageflight's smile was nearly as wide as her face. "Fast action into the middle, pull back, parry-riposte!"

"And?" asked Wheeljack.

"Fast action, fake pulling back, close-out counter-attack when she gets too close?"

"Good, good, keep thinking," said Wheeljack.

 **Starscream** : I saw the tableau. Did you tell her to flunge?

 **Wheeljack** : i'm not telling stageflight to flunge

 **Starscream** : It's the right action!

 **Wheeljack** : ever since you taught her to flunge it's her favorite action

 **Wheeljack** i don't need to tell her to flunge

 **Wheeljack** : the problem is getting her to stop 

**Starscream** : "Problem."

 **Wheeljack** : ok why don't you leave us alone and go do YOUR job

 **Starscream** : Knock Out's in between pool bouts and he won't stop talking about how much he wishes Breakdown was here.

 **Starscream** : I can't listen to another word about Breakdown's broad blue chest or his warm yellow optics or his homemade rust sticks.

 **Wheeljack** : aw that's sweet. be nice to ko

 **Starscream** : I'm being very nice by allowing him to prattle unchecked while I give you my invaluable insights.

 **Starscream** : They'll never expect the flunge from a fencer Stageflight's size.

 **Wheeljack** : they'll expect it after she flunges five times in a row

"Oh! Oh!" Stageflight waved her hands to regain Wheeljack's attention. "Maybe I should—"

"Every time you flunge, you have to try three new actions before you're allowed to flunge again," said Wheeljack.

Stageflight beamed. "So I _can_ flunge."

Wheeljack just looked at her. Eventually Stageflight ducked her helm in a clearly false show of compliance and started warming up her footwork.

 **Wheeljack** : stageflight used to be real easy to work with before you started giving her ideas

 **Starscream** : I'm interested in your theory that ideas are bad. Please tell me more.

 **Wheeljack** : sorry i'm busy coaching ttyl

\---

The Cybertronian fencers were spread out across the venue, so Wheeljack didn't have to work up the energy to be polite to either Megatron or Sideswipe. He did nod to the opponent's coach—one of the lesser acolytes of the Mistress of the Flame. Starscream tended to snub them on Windblade's behalf, but Wheeljack didn't see any reason to be rude. It wasn't the acolytes' fault they were working for a pompous, stuffy, _traditional_ fencing salle that wouldn't know a good fencer if she hit them over the head with her sabre guard.

Wheeljack checked himself, taking a deep breath through his mask vents and letting it out through his back.

All right, it was kind of their fault. But Salle de la Flamme was basically the only game on Caminus. Not everyone had the strength of will Windblade had needed to leave it. Or an infamous Cybertronian coach offering to train them if they did.

Stageflight was finished hooking up to the strip, practically vibrating with anticipation. Wheeljack offered her a fist-bump.

"What's the most important thing?" he asked.

"Good fencing!" Stageflight's fist crashed into Wheeljack's, just a little harder than was actually necessary.

"And number two?" asked Wheeljack.

"Win!"

"And if you can't win?"

"Go for the knees!" said Stageflight, fortunately not quite loud enough for the Camiens or the referee to hear.

"No, _try your best_ ," said Wheeljack. "Have you been listening to Starscream again?"

"He's the _maestro_." Stageflight widened her optics, all faux innocence.

"Try your best." Wheeljack pushed Stageflight's visor down for her. "Alright, show me what you can do."

 **Wheeljack** : you're turning my students into vicious monsters

 **Starscream** : I don't know what you're talking about. Flunging is a perfectly valid fencing action.

 **Wheeljack** : i'm talking about the kneecapping

 **Starscream** : Oh. I told her that was a joke.

 **Wheeljack** : joke or "joke"

 **Starscream** : Please, I would never inflict air-quotes on the youth.

 **Starscream** : Ugh, I have to go. If you never hear from me again, it's because I dared to question one of Arcee's calls and she decapitated me on the spot.

 **Wheeljack** : it's been an honor working with you

 **Wheeljack** : but also please don't start a fight with arcee

 **Starscream** : I "promise."

Wheeljack settled back in his chair as the referee called on-guard.

This would be a good experience for Stageflight. She'd see what fencing looked like at this level, and after the bout wrapped up they could go watch the other Cybertronian fencers. The two kids from the Ark, definitely, and the Lost Light fencer if Wheeljack felt like tolerating Megatron. Try to instill some team spirit in Stageflight, instead of the energon-lust Starscream had been imparting to her.

"Fence," said the referee, and Stageflight stepped into the middle quickly before jumping back and taking a perfectly smooth parry-riposte.

"Touch right," said the referee. "Ready? Fence."

Stageflight lunged in and then pedaled backwards, letting Asbestos come at her, before suddenly lunging back into the distance again, angling her guard so that she could shove Asbestos’ blade out of the way.

"Counterattack right," said the referee. "Two to zero. Ready?"

Wheeljack found himself leaning forward.

The next action was the pit-damned flunge. Asbestos was so spooked that Stageflight actually landed it.

\---

Wheeljack didn't jump when a hand touched his shoulder this time. He didn't even look away from where Stageflight was lengthening a marching attack until Asbestos almost went off the end of the strip. "You have your own kids, Sideswipe."

"Don't worry," said Rodimus. "Sideswipe's hasn't abandoned his duty. Who's this?"

Now Wheeljack did look up. "I thought you were doing senior. Why aren't you in the other building?" 

"The last pool's delayed." Rodimus pulled a face. "Injury, injury, bout committee, injury, bout committee. Guess who's in the middle of it?"

Stageflight feinted too far into the middle and got caught by her opponent.

"Small steps!" called Wheeljack, and Stageflight flashed him a smile while getting back on guard.

"Great attitude," said Rodimus. "This is really one of Screamer's?"

"Yeah," said Wheeljack, absently, still tracking Stageflight's footwork as she played with the distance. It was easy to ignore Rodimus' incredulous snort. "Don't tell me Knock Out got hurt."

"Nah, your boss-mech is just arguing a crossing card ad infinitum. I mean, he's _right_ , but eventually you gotta cut your losses. Or, I mean, you or I gotta. Screamer just pushes referees until he's nearly pushed himself off a cliff. He's not even a Velocitron coach, not really."

"He's an attached personal coach," said Wheeljack. "He's wearing the Velocitron sigil."

"Yeah, that might not last." Rodimus leaned in to murmur loudly in Wheeljack's audial. "The Velocitronians are getting pretty slagged off about the patented Screamer experience. Word is they're trying to get Starscream kicked out of the venue, only they don’t want to cause another scene."

Wheeljack resisted the urge to ping Starscream. He had to pay attention to this bout. Starscream wouldn't talk to him anyway if he was busy yelling at people. 

"Oh, wow, sick flunge," said Rodimus. "Where did you _get_ this kid?"

"Metroplex." Wheeljack let smugness overpower any uneasiness he felt. Stageflight was still up, seven to three. "She had about two weeks at Academy of Vos, before her guardians moved cities. The rest is all us."

"You mean _you_ , right?" Rodimus patted Wheeljack's shoulder, still leaned forward and impinging on Wheeljack's personal space. "I can't see Starscream working with kids."

"Starscream is great with youth fencers," lied Wheeljack, and ignored another one of Rodimus' disbelieving noises. Then Stageflight made another parry-riposte, and Wheeljack shrugged off Rodimus' hand on his way up to coach the eight-touch break.

\---

 **Wheeljack** : did they kick you out?

 **Starscream** : I don't know what you're talking about.

 **Starscream** : Also, I was right.

 **Wheeljack** : i don't even know what the argument was

 **Starscream** : Arcee tried to card Knock Out for crossing.

 **Wheeljack** : ok he probably deserved that

 **Starscream** : Oh no no no. You should know better. Knock Out comes close to crossing. Knock Out flirts with the _idea_ of crossing. He doesn't cross completely, not since we started the special training. 

**Wheeljack** : is that why you had that energon prod at the club?

 **Starscream** : I'm not sure you want me to answer that question, legally speaking.

 **Starscream** : But yes.

 **Starscream** : Anyway, Arcee—I can't believe this—Arcee said his _ankles_ crossed. Ankles! Who cares about ankles? It's the foot that matters, the whole foot has to cross in front of the other foot. Do you think Arcee's actually read the rulebook, or was she too busy plotting the deaths of unwary coaches to pay attention during the referee training?

 **Wheeljack** : speaking from my long experience of arcee it’s probably the latter

 **Wheeljack** : and no video right?

 **Starscream** : Not in pools.

 **Starscream** : Anyway, he won four, lost one, and "lost" one on that absurd crossing card. It's not bad. Is Stageflight out yet?

 **Wheeljack** : she just beat that camien kid asbestos in the round of 64. she's pretty pumped.

 **Starscream** : Hahahahaha

 **Wheeljack** : is that happy laughter or maniacal laughter?

 **Starscream** : I don’t understand the difference. How many times did she flunge?

 **Wheeljack** : stop

 **Starscream** : How many times did she hit with the flunge?

 **Wheeljack** : are they going to let you coach DEs?

 **Starscream** : Bout committee hasn’t said anything.

 **Starscream** : And I'd like to see the Velocitronians try to stop me.

 **Wheeljack** : haha ok. don’t do anything i wouldn’t do

 **Starscream** : Mhm.

 **Starscream** : I don’t think that’s as limiting as you think it is.

\---

"Alright, squirt," said Wheeljack. "You ready for the next round?"

Stageflight nodded so hard her visor flipped down and bonked her nose.

"Since you upset Asbestos, you get to fence someone a little easier in the next round." Wheeljack checked the bracket on his HUD. "Looks like a kid from Velocitron, seeded right in the middle of the pack. How do we fence kids from Velocitron?"

Stageflight looked like she'd just made the most amazing discovery. "Like we fence Knock Out!" 

For once in his life, Wheeljack blessed Starscream's penchant for snatching up every unattended fencer in the galaxy. "Which means?"

"Flunge!"

Wheeljack sighed. "Besides flunge."

Stageflight tapped her sabre against the ground, looking for inspiration.

"They gotta go fast," prompted Wheeljack.

"Small steps forward, hesitate, let them run into my guard?" suggested Stageflight.

"And?"

Stageflight screwed up her nose in thought. "Half step, attack into their preparation?"

"Good, and?"

"Flunge?"

"Parry-riposte," said Wheeljack. "And then you can flunge."

\---

Speed Bump the Velocitronian was small and skinny, in contrast to Stageflight's stocky frame. He also didn't actually have a coach. Wheeljack wondered if all the Velocitronian sabre mechs were over in the other building, trying to fend off Starscream. Or maybe the designated youth coach hadn't even realized this kid had made it to the second round. Velocitron had a deserved reputation for focusing on their top fencers to the exclusion of good sense and fencer development.

"Who's this?" said a mech, softly, just behind Wheeljack's helm.

Wheeljack was pretty sure he was hallucinating, because he recognized that voice. Or maybe there was a sticker on his aft. _Please prank in the middle of important bouts_. Wheeljack didn't turn, refusing to let himself be distracted. "Aren't you banned?"

"It expired this season," said Prowl. Actually, unmistakably Prowl. "At the galactic level, anyway. Cybertron holds a longer grudge."

Stageflight took two quick steps into the middle and let Speed Bump run into her guard before hitting him with a neat riposte. Wheeljack compulsively pinged Starscream, wordless, just needing the reassurance. He didn't push away Prowl's hand.

"You taught her to fence?" asked Prowl.

Speed Bump stepped into the middle more carefully this time, holding back in case Stageflight put her guard in his way again. This time Stageflight caught him with an attack into preparation.

 **Starscream** : What? I'm fine. Unmurdered.

"Yeah," said Wheeljack. "She's one of mine. Who are you coaching for?"

Speed Bump abandoned caution and rushed into the middle again. Stageflight took one step in and jumped back to parry-riposte.

 **Wheeljack** : nothing. i'll tell you later

Something in Prowl's voice sounded off, like he didn't quite believe what he was saying. "I'm the head coach for Tor. You won't have heard of it. We're developing our first generation of interplanetary fencers."

Stageflight tried to attack in the middle again, but Speed Bump decided to stop playing this awful push-pull game and just attacked faster than Stageflight could ever hope to.

"Try something new!" called Wheeljack, then lowered his voice again. "Why are you out there? No rules committee to hamper your plans?"

 **Starscream** : I'm very excited to hear your excuses for the constant pestering.

Prowl chuckled. "Worse." He gestured off to the right, past Stageflight's strip.

Speed Bump false-started and was warned. The referee put him back on guard, and the kid immediately false-started again, getting a penalty card for it this time. Wheeljack took advantage of the drama to look away from the strip and follow Prowl's hand.

There were two little mechs sitting against the wall. They didn't look old enough for upper youth division. They must have done extraordinarily well in the lower division to qualify for an upper-level event despite the age cut-off. They were also almost the spitting image of Prowl, but somehow... fuzzy. Wheeljack immediately resolved not to ask.

"Twins?" he said. Frag it, he _wasn't_ going to ask.

"Triplets." Prowl's voice still had that odd, disbelieving tone. "Sidle wrenched a cable at our last tournament and had to stay home." Prowl's hand briefly tightened on Wheeljack's shoulder before he released it entirely. "Tarantulas is a very protective guardian."

Fortunately Stageflight rescued Wheeljack from having to react to that. The referee had finally gotten Speed Bump to settle down, and Stageflight was almost trembling with anticipation as the referee called ready.

Wheeljack was expecting the flunge. Pit, Speed Bump was probably expecting the flunge, if he'd watched Stageflight fence anytime today. What neither of them were expecting was for Stageflight to make a short hop into the middle, pulling her hand back to bait Speed Bump's attack. Then she dropped into a crouch, easily parrying the Speed Bump's wild swing for her helm. When Stageflight made the riposte, she turned and screamed so loud Wheeljack had to reset his audials.

"Your fencer?" asked Prowl, again.

"Starscream helped," said Wheeljack, still recovering from Stageflight’s success.

Prowl hummed. 

"He's good with youth fencers," said Wheeljack, trying to sound more earnest this time.

"Starscream's a good coach," said Prowl, surprising Wheeljack. "I once suggested to Optimus that we should recruit him. It would have destroyed the Decepticon morale."

Speed Bump got the counter-attack when Stageflight stepped in too close, but he didn't even celebrate the touch. He seemed to be pretty demoralized by the Stageflight's drop parry, and Wheeljack wasn't surprised when Stageflight won the next touch on another attack in prep.

"We sent you a job offer," said Wheeljack. "When Optimus threw you out. You wouldn't even consider it." Wheeljack had fought with Starscream about it at the time. Starscream hadn't wanted Prowl anywhere near his new club, but Wheeljack still thought there was something in his old friend worth passing on to the next generation of fencers.

Well, apparently Tarantulas agreed. That was uncomfortable company to be in, especially if Tarantulas was being literal about it.

Prowl didn't respond for a long time, leaving Wheeljack to watch the bout. Stageflight was well up by now, winning seven to three.

"I was going to have my own club," Prowl said at last. "The Constructicons thought—" he cut himself off. "It doesn't matter. Every choice is a missed opportunity."

Wheeljack glanced right. The fuzzy little Prowls were chattering about something, trading off smacking each other's feet with the tips of their sabres.

"Not them." Prowl's voice hardened. "I'd never regret them."

Stageflight took two quick steps into the middle, then let Speed Bump run into her guard. Wheeljack got up to coach the break. He finally let himself look back, and caught a glimpse of the lack of an expression on Prowl's face. It was more or less the same face Wheeljack had known for all those vorns of 'war.' There was some scarring around Prowl's left optic, though, and the optic itself looked new. Battle wounds. Prowl had always taken the war as seriously as any Decepticon.

"What would you've done?" Wheeljack was wasting Stageflight's break, but he couldn't help himself. "If Starscream had defected?"

"Spent a vorn draining his processor of useful knowledge and then kicked him out of the club." Prowl shrugged. "Probably better for him that we didn't."

Better for you if you'd come to Metroplex, Wheeljack didn't say. It might not be true, and Prowl probably didn't want to hear it. Wheeljack turned away, instead, lining up the things he needed to tell Stageflight to keep her momentum going.

When he got back to his seat, Prowl was already walking away. The mini-Prowls were chasing after him, optics bright and sabres clasped in their paws. Hands. Close enough.

\---

"I did it, I did it!" Stageflight practically tackled Wheeljack after the end of her bout. "Who's next?"

Wheeljack braced himself against Stageflight's weight and swung her around in a circle. "You know how to use your HUD."

Stageflight groaned when Wheeljack set her back on her feet and she made a show of laboriously checking the tableau. "But I don't know who this is!"

"Well, what colony are they from?"

"It says Warworld," said Stageflight, and Wheeljack clamped his plating hard before taking a deep calming breath. And another. And another. And—

"That doesn't sound like a colony," said Stageflight. "Is that a colony?"

"Sort of," mumbled Wheeljack. 

"How should I fence them?" Stageflight touched Wheeljack's hand, face caught somewhere between a pout and concern. "Are you okay?"

Wheeljack finally got himself under control. "You're going to fence them as well as you can. Same as always."

\---

 **Starscream** : Stop panicking.

 **Wheeljack** : this isn't panic this is healthy fear

 **Starscream** : Who's the referee?

 **Wheeljack** : some friend of grimlock's. crocodile.

 **Starscream** : Krok?

 **Wheeljack** : yeah probably

 **Starscream** : He used to be a Decepticon. Sort of.

 **Wheeljack** : is that good or bad for us?

 **Starscream** : Good question.

 **Wheeljack** : i'm telling stageflight to withdraw

 **Starscream** : Don't you dare.

 **Wheeljack** : she doesn't deserve to be caught up in this

 **Starscream** : You're panicking again. Krok won't let anyone _die_.

 **Wheeljack** : that's not actually very reassuring.

 **Starscream** : It could be worse.

 **Wheeljack** : i don't want to hear how it could be worse

 **Starscream** : Tarn only hates me. He loathes Megatron.

 **Wheeljack** : that would only make things worse in the dystopian parallel universe where i coached for megatron. we don't live in that universe

 **Starscream** : I have to go, Knock Out's about to fence. Try to stop hyperventilating.

 **Wheeljack** : i'm not hyperventilating. are they still letting you coach?

 **Starscream** : We’ve reached an agreement. The Velocitronians only want plausible deniability.

 **Wheeljack** : what does that mean?

 **Starscream** : Well, they made me scrape off the sigil.

 **Wheeljack** : that's not so bad

 **Starscream** : Also I'm hiding behind a pillar and projecting my voice to the strip so no one has to actually see that I exist.

 **Starscream** : Anyway, have fun!

\---

Wheeljack didn't sit down this time. Instead he stood right against the barrier, hands clenched around the edge. Stageflight sent him a worried look, so Wheeljack tried to project reassurance. He was pretty sure he failed. 

The opponent was hooking up. Some little beastformer about two-thirds Stageflight's size, with a wide grin and lots of extra teeth. The tableau said his name was Muderlion, which was unfortunately plausible. Wheeljack didn't see a coach. Maybe Vos was coaching this one, or even Deathsaurus. He thought he could deal with Deathsaurus.

"Hello, Wheeljack," purred Tarn, right in Wheeljack's audial. Oh, frag. "It's so nice to see old friends at these events, don't you think?"

"Yeah," said Wheeljack. "That would be nice." He suddenly, viscerally missed the old days. He'd fenced Tarn once or twice and never felt anything from him but cool indifference. Wheeljack had never been a strong enough fencer to be on Tarn's infamous hit list. But after the Decepticons' messy breakup—Tarn took a step forward, optics focused on Stageflight. 

"The spitting image," said Tarn, still in that low, dangerous purr.

"Of Starscream?" Wheeljack could see it, even if he wished Tarn didn’t.

Tarn sighed. "Of Megatron. It's written in every line of her stance. She even looks like a tank."

"I taught her to fence," said Wheeljack. "And she turns into some wacky flying all-terrain vehicle."

Tarn waved away the correction. "I'm sure Starscream helped. Didn't he? Isn't Metroplex _his_ club? Starscream knows just how a heavy frame should fence. The only worthwhile thing he learned in all the time he spent distracting the Decepticons from their true destiny."

"Starscream didn't—" Wheeljack cut himself off before he could get drawn in, but Tarn's optics were already glinting. Starscream always said Tarn liked his prey best when it was squirming. 

Tarn leaned in, his voice vibrating across Wheeljack's plating. "I'm going to destroy her."

"She's a kid," said Wheeljack. He knew Tarn wouldn't see reason, but it made Wheeljack feel better to try.

"I'm going to crush her," said Tarn, "and I'm going to crush you. I only wish that traitor Starscream was here to see it."

"He's not the one who betrayed the Decepticons." Wheeljack glanced across the venue, looking for Megatron. "Why can't you go ruin someone else's day?"

"Oh, all of us betrayed the Decepticons in the end." Tarn actually patted Wheeljack's cheek. His talons were cold. "Almost all of us. Don't worry, Wheeljack, my retribution won't stop here."

\---

The first touch was simultaneous attacks, no point. The second touch was simultaneous attacks. The third touch Stageflight tried to pull distance and nearly got tackled by Murderlion's flunge.

It wasn't vindictive. There wasn't anything horrible about it. Muderlion was small enough and Stageflight was big enough that the impact hardly shook her. But Wheeljack was so tense he could feel his fans try to change gears as soon as Murderlion crashed into Stageflight's side. Krok didn't look ruffled, just stepped forward to make sure both fencers were okay before putting them back on guard.

Simultaneous. Simultaneous. Then a hit that was still simultaneous, but was also hard enough to make Stageflight flinch.

Wheeljack took a half a step toward the referee, but Krok was already waving an admonishing finger at Murderlion. "Careful, next one's a card."

"It's just an accident," said Tarn. "Youthful high spirits."

"First one's an accident," said Murderlion, implacably. "Next one's a card."

"Make a plan," Wheeljack told Stageflight. "Stay aggressive."

Stageflight tried, but she was obviously intimidated by the hard hit. She tried an attack, pushing Murderlion down the strip, but then Murderlion counterattacked and Stageflight tried and failed to parry him instead of just finishing her action. The next action Stageflight started to attack in the middle, then backpedalled when she realized Murderlion was going for simultaneous and got hit again when she couldn't get out of the way in time.

"Reset!" said Wheeljack. "Be calm!"

Stageflight's wings flickered, and she settled into her on guard position. The next touch she attacked into Murderlion's preparation, right as Murderlion pulled back to deliver a shattering blow to Stageflight's shoulder.

Krok gave the touch to Stageflight and a warning card to Murderlion. "Next card's a point to the opponent."

"See?" said Wheeljack. "That's yours! Keep going!" But the damage was done. If Stageflight was a couple vorns older maybe she would've sucked it up and powered through. Right now Wheeljack wasn't even sure if she should. She tried a few counterattacks, dancing at the edge of the distance and pulling back at the last second just to minimize the force of Murderlion's blows. At the break it was eight to three, Tarn's favor.

"The referee's on your side," Wheeljack told Stageflight.

"I really don't want to get hit," mumbled Stageflight. She wouldn't meet Wheeljack's optics.

"You can hit back!" Wheeljack caught Stageflight's shoulder, then let go when she winced. "Sorry, just—Just fragging kneecap the kid!"

Stageflight finally looked at him, slack-jawed with amazement.

"Sorry," repeated Wheeljack. "Adult language. But do what you need to do, don't let him run you over."

Stageflight straightened her back and nodded, but her expression didn't look much happier. 

Wheeljack bent down, putting his head at Stageflight's level. "Don't worry about winning the bout. Worry about the next touch. If you can just get the next touch, one after the other, it'll all work out."

"What about _surviving_?" asked Stageflight.

"Let me worry about surviving," said Wheeljack. "Come on, you can do it."

There were still ten nanokliks left on the clock, so Wheeljack walked over to Krok. "He's trying to murder my kid." Wheeljack nodded at Tarn. "You're not going to let that happen."

Krok shrugged, and his mouth twisted when that didn't make Wheeljack go away. "Look," he said, voice low. "I'm going to card it. I have to card it. But you think it's going to stick, if I throw this fencer out? If I throw _Tarn_ out?"

Wheeljack looked hard at Krok. "You're the one in charge."

Krok grimaced. "Let me rephrase. One of Starscream's coaches is arguing cards, trying to get someone thrown out. You think that would stick?" He glanced at Stageflight, who was sipping a bottle of coolant and not looking at her opponent. "She's built like a tank, even if she's kind of a seeker. She can take it."

Wheeljack nearly vibrated out of his plating with rage. He locked his vocalizer so he couldn't say something he'd regret.

Krok raised his voice again. "That's time. Fencers on guard."

Wheeljack shuffled back to his corner. He still couldn't make himself sit down.

The score was twelve to five, Tarn's favor, when Wheeljack realized he was compulsively pinging Starscream's comm. Not a message, just pinging Starscream to make sure he was still there. Wheeljack tried to stop, but Stageflight attacked into prep again and got two points and a small dent when Krok carded Murderlion for slamming his guard through Stageflight's shoulder and into her wing. Stageflight took it like a trooper, trudging back to the on guard line while Wheeljack pinged Starscream three more times, as rapid as his sparkpulse.

Starscream must have been busy, because he didn't spare a nanoklik to scold Wheeljack for distracting him. He just pinged back, steady as a metronome, until Wheeljack's spark slowed to match.

Stageflight tried to parry. Stageflight tried to counterattack. Stageflight actually did flunge, and got a guard to the helm for her troubles. Finally, at fifteen to ten, the bout was over and Wheeljack could cross the barrier to help Stageflight unhook.

"How are we doing?"

Stageflight's hands were shaking. "I don't want to do that ever again." 

"Me neither," said Wheeljack. "But you're okay? No lost teeth?"

Stageflight managed about a third of a grin, and Wheeljack patted her shoulder. "All right, go sign. I'm going to go make nice with the other coach."

Later, after he'd had two or three drinks, Wheeljack tried to figure out if he'd planned it. The result was the same, but premeditation could affect the length of his suspension. But as near as Wheeljack could figure, there was nothing in his processor as he walked up to Tarn. Just buzzing red heat in his HUD and Starscream's pings in his audials.

"A good bout," Tarn sounded jovial, victorious. He started to say something else, but Wheeljack's fist had already made contact with his face.

\---

Wheeljack was already into his second pitcher of high grade when someone finally found him. He didn't look up. He didn't even cover his intake nozzle with his mask. He wasn't in the mood.

Wheeljack had been toying with the nightmare/fantasy that it would be enforcers who came looking for him. Unfortunately, it was worse.

"Starscream says you've been ignoring his comms," said Megatron.

"Starscream did _not_ tell you that." Wheeljack was very proud of how steady his voice sounded.

"Not directly," admitted Megatron, easily. "But he did panic and send a broadcast to all Cybertronian coaches." He took the seat next to Wheeljack, despite Wheeljack's feeble attempts to push the chair away. "Is this your first black card? Starscream really is rubbing off on you."

"No," said Wheeljack. "And don't try to be cute."

"The innuendo was inadvertent," said Megatron.

No, it wasn't. "Second black card," said Wheeljack. "I kicked my mask across the gym once when I was still fencing upper youth division."

"We can consider your juvenile record sealed," said Megatron. "Let's have a toast." He signaled to the bartender. "What are you drinking?"

"Polyhexian gearstripper," said Wheeljack.

Megatron made a face. "Why?" 

Wheeljack didn't actually have an answer, so Megatron ordered two glasses of Iaconian engex. As the bartender poured them, Wheeljack thought about throwing the drinks in Megatron's face. But for once, miraculously, Megatron wasn't the mech he was most angry with. "Did you see Stageflight?"

Megatron nodded. "She's still a little shaken. But she was bolstered by your willingness to murder the scary coach on her behalf."

"And how's the scary coach?" asked Wheeljack. Prowl had been the one to pull Wheeljack off Tarn, back at the venue. Krok had tried, but his spark obviously wasn't in it, and Wheeljack was completely unwilling to be deescalated. Luckily Prowl had arrived before Tarn could remember that he was about twice Wheeljack’s size and five times more violent than Wheeljack had ever been.

"Tarn is largely undamaged," said Megatron. "Regrettably. You shocked him, though. He thought he was dealing with the least volatile of the Metroplex coaches."

Wheeljack sipped the engex to keep himself from laughing. "That's probably Rattrap. There's a reason why Starscream leaves him to watch the club during the big competitions."

Megatron swirled his own engex. "Ultra Magnus wanted you banned for the rest of the season. He called you a disgrace to Cybertron." 

"Frag Cybertron," said Wheeljack. His glass was half empty. When had that happened?

"Mhm. I think we can be glad that you weren't there to plead your case." Megatron smiled. "Your referee argued it down to just a day ban. You're welcome to come coach tomorrow."

Wheeljack grunted. Stageflight probably wouldn't want to fence tomorrow, even though she could do well in lower youth division. And Wheeljack wasn't sure if he trusted himself in the same building as Tarn right now. Maybe he would go to the other venue, watch the upper senior event and help Starscream coach Windblade. If Starscream wanted him to.

"Who won?" Wheeljack couldn't look up the results on his HUD anymore, not since he'd been booted out of the venue. He hoped it hadn't been Tarn's maiming intern. "Your kid?"

"One of Prowl's little abominations," said Megatron. "Loiter. No, Trundle. I can't tell them apart. To be honest, I was trying to stay away from them."

"Good for them," muttered Wheeljack. His glass was running low, so he topped it off with the gearstripper.

"Fencing has such a short memory." Megatron looked into his untouched engex. "I thought Prowl would never be at another competition."

"I thought the same thing about you." Wheeljack shrugged. "Sucks to be wrong."

"I never cheated," said Megatron. "Even at my worst, I never interfered with a bout. But Prowl—"

"Whatever." Wheeljack tipped his chair back, almost fell, grabbed at the bar to steady himself, and almost knocked over the pitcher. "Frag! Okay. Listen. I’m only going to say it once, so listen. The so-called fencing community doesn't care what you did. They don't care about Prowl, they don't care about Tarn. They only barely care about Starscream, and when they do, it's only because they like watching him struggle. All the wonderful fencing community cares about is who won the last bout, and who's going to win the next one."

"There's no need to drown yourself in cynicism." Megatron put his hand on Wheeljack's back. "Today was a disgrace, and even Ultra Magnus recognizes that. That bout shouldn't have lasted three touches, once Tarn made his intentions clear."

Wheeljack wanted to push Megatron's hand away. He'd had enough of mechs' hands on him. But he was pretty sure he'd topple over if he tried, so he pushed the venom he was feeling into his voice instead. "Krok figured a card wouldn't stick. And you know what? The slagger was right. You think bout committee would have upheld a brutality black card against a little kid? Or something something sportsmanship against Tarn?"

"Ultra Magnus," repeated Megatron. Primus, couldn't Megatron shut up about the mech? Wheeljack hoped they weren't fragging, he wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy.

"Ultra Magnus would've recused himself," said Wheeljack. "For fear of bias. And then someone would've remembered what club I coach for, and then they would've started talking about Starscream—"

"It doesn't matter," said Megatron. "They still should've carded Tarn."

Wheeljack knocked back his drink. "Well, Krok's learned his lesson. It would've been less work to just give the card than it was to pry me off Tarn. Think I kicked Krok in the throat, actually, before Prowl got me in the headlock."

Megatron took a sip of his unadulterated engex. "Fencing isn't about the easy route," he said at last.

Wheeljack snorted. "You sound very wise."

"I'm trying," said Megatron, bitterly. "Starscream really has infected you."

Wheeljack wondered if twice in one orn was too many times to attempt murder. Maybe you got a pass if it was two different mechs.

"The problem with Starscream," began Megatron.

"I don't want to hear it," said Wheeljack.

"You may not want to," said Megatron. "But I've known Starscream longer than you have, so maybe you'll learn something. The problem with Starscream is that he always has to win the argument, even if he doesn't win the bout."

Wheeljack dropped his head to the bar counter, hoping that if he didn't respond Megatron would go away.

"Starscream pushes," said Megatron. "Pushes and pushes until you start pushing back. And he won't tell you to stop pushing. He won't _let_ you stop. He just keeps arguing and fighting until you finally push him too hard. Until he breaks."

"Are you done?" Wheeljack could smell spilled energon on the counter. It made his tank roil, so he reached for his glass. Empty. Frag.

"No," said Megatron, but he pushed his chair back and got up. "Go back to the hotel. Find your employer. He's worried about you."

It took about three kliks for Wheeljack's processor to surface from the sea of high grade currently flooding his frame and formulate a response. "Mechs keep telling Starscream you've changed," he said, when it finally did. "You're sure fooling them, huh?"

No response. By the time Wheeljack bothered to look up, Megatron was already gone.

He'd left half a glass of engex behind. Wheeljack didn't let it go to waste.

\---

 **Wheeljack** : starscream just let me in

 **Wheeljack** : you're the one who was looking for me

 **Wheeljack** : starscream i'm way too drunk for this scrap

Wheeljack tried the keycard three times before he realized it was the wrong one. Starscream's keycard was in a different pocket of his subspace.

They weren't sharing a room. Starscream didn't like sharing with anyone. He'd made that very clear when Wheeljack offered to split his Cybertron-paid room with Starscream so they could save Metroplex some money. But Wheeljack had made sure to get a keycard off Starscream anyway, just in case of an emergency.

This was an emergency. Wheeljack had tried knocking, and he'd tried comming. No response. He _knew_ Starscream was in there. He just needed to get the door open.

He fumbled Starscream's keycard a few times before he finally got it into the door the right way up. The light on the door blinked green, and the door handle turned easily. At least Starscream hadn't put the deadbolt on.

Starscream was flopped diagonal across the oversized hotel berth, thrusters propped against the edge of the headboard. He glared as Wheeljack walked in.

"Did you hear me at the door?" asked Wheeljack.

"I assumed someone was breaking in," said Starscream, then visibly clamped his jaw against whatever the punchline was.

All right, Wheeljack could work with that. Starscream was making a good effort, but he could only manage the full silent treatment when he was _really_ mad. If Starscream couldn't resist the temptation to be snide, there was still room for Wheeljack to smooth things over. 

Wheeljack walked over to the berth, watching Starscream's wings twitch as he got closer. "How was your day?"

Starscream stayed silent for two or three kliks, long enough for Wheeljack to get nervous. Then he gave the poorest excuse for a laugh Wheeljack had ever heard. "My day was wonderful. First I got to be ignored by bout committee in favor of that vicious assassin currently operating in deep cover as an interplanetary referee. Then those spineless imitations of sabre coaches Velocitron occasionally produces from a secret warehouse decided they didn't want to be tainted by my presence, and I had to—"

"Hide behind a pillar, right." Wheeljack was having to think really hard about keeping his balance, so he sat on the triangle of empty berth between Starscream's wing and his thigh. "Where did Knock Out end up?"

"Eighth." Starscream's tone conveyed that this was the worst of all possible places.

"That's good!" Wheeljack patted Starscream's hip. "That's really fragging good. What was his best interplanetary result before, thirty-sixth? He'll be ready to move to upper division soon."

"He lost to Rum-Maj." Starscream scowled. "I was beating Rum-Maj when her knee joints still worked. And I had to shake hands with Wreck-Gar afterward. It was awful. There was this brown _crust_ on his hands, I had to disinfect my entire frame."

"I bet it was a good bout." Wheeljack patted Starscream's hip again, because he wanted to and Starscream wasn't pushing him off yet. "Wish I'd been there." 

Starscream sneered. "You _are_ drunk." 

Wheeljack couldn't refute that. He ran his hand along the edge of Starscream's wing next, feeling it twitch under his fingers. "What else happened?"

Starscream folded his arms over his cockpit. "Well, I was very distracted during Knock Out's third-to-last bout because _someone_ kept pinging me. Not messaging me, just pinging me, over and over and over, until I got a processor ache."

"Is that why you're lying like this?" asked Wheeljack. "Your processor still hurting?"

"Take a wild guess," snapped Starscream.

Yeesh. No wonder Starscream was grumpy. "Turn over," said Wheeljack.

Starscream glared at him again.

"Come on." Wheeljack nudged Starscream in the side. "Let me make you feel better."

Starscream kept up the glare for another klik, but finally he relented and turned onto his stomach. Now Wheeljack could reach the plating between Starscream's wings and work his fingers into the tense cables of Starscream's neck. At first Starscream resisted the massage, plating clamped tight and wings stiff. But slowly, slowly, he relaxed. Wheeljack kept working on him, mesmerized by the tiny shifts in Starscream's shoulders as they gradually loosened.

"The pinging was annoying," muttered Starscream. "A thousand times worse than your incessant messages." 

"I wasn't having a great time," said Wheeljack. "Neither was Stageflight. I needed to know at least you were okay."

"Stageflight will be fine," said Starscream. "She's young, she'll bounce right back from some minor trauma like this. It was a great result, you know. Fifteenth."

Wheeljack didn't say anything, just pushed at Starscream's shoulders, trying to keep them relaxed even as Starscream tried to tense up. 

"She's probably not going to quit," said Starscream.

"She's not quitting," said Wheeljack. "Did you talk to her guardians?"

"That's your job," said Starscream.

"I was busy being thrown out." Wheeljack managed to work his fingers under Starscream's shoulder plating, and Starscream groaned.

"Yes," he said, once his vocalizer was back under control. "Yes, I talked to her guardians. They're not happy, but they're not mad at you. Stageflight said you were _cool_. No one ever called me cool when I was being black carded for assaulting someone."

"Sure they did," said Wheeljack.

Starscream snorted. "Rumble and Frenzy don't count."

"I should have done something earlier," said Wheeljack. "If you'd been there you would've never stopped yelling."

"If I'd been there, Tarn would've tried to tear off my wings as soon as he saw me," said Starscream. "Or I would've clawed his optics out. Probably both."

Wheeljack flattened his palms against Starscream's wings, rubbing outward in gentle circles. 

"Stageflight's just getting good," said Starscream. "I don't want to lose her."

"She'll stick it out," said Wheeljack. "Maybe she won't fence tomorrow, but she won't let this thing throw her."

Starscream squirmed under Wheeljack's hands, shifting on the berth until he could lie flat, cheek pressed against the end of the berth pad and feet resting on either side of his pillow. Wheeljack waited until Starscream was settled and then clambered onto the berth, straddling Starscream's thighs and leaning forward to deepen the massage. Starscream's plating was starting to warm up, and his cables were getting easier to unkink.

"You wouldn't answer my comms," muttered Starscream.

"Sorry," said Wheeljack. "Didn't really feel like talking."

"You wouldn't answer me, and Sideswipe told me you'd had a fight with Tarn before being thrown out on the street, and then _Megatron_ messaged me." Starscream's wings flicked back, smacking Wheeljack's knees. "You're the one who told me to block his frequency."

All right, that was true. Obviously Starscream hadn't actually blocked Megatron, but Wheeljack had spent plenty of time trying to convince him he should. Wheeljack just kept pressing his apology into Starscream's wings, feeling them flutter and settle until they were relaxed again.

"What did he say?" asked Wheeljack.

"Nothing. Just that you were—" Starscream's vocalizer fritzed as Wheeljack brushed against his ailerons, and he coughed to bring it back online. "—On your way."

Mm. Somehow Wheeljack thought something was missing there. "He wasn't a dick to you, was he?"

Starscream laughed, vocalizer hitching, and set the new record for the worst laugh of all time.

Wheeljack gentled his touch, focusing on just petting Starscream's wings until Starscream stopped making that awful noise. Until Starscream pressed his face against the berth, his hands gripping the covers. Until Starscream's back arched, pressing his wings into Wheeljack's hands and his aft into Wheeljack's pelvic plating.

Which—all right, maybe that wasn't the worst idea. At least it would take Starscream's mind off things, and Wheeljack liked touching people when he was drunk, he bet it would feel pretty good to take advantage of an invitation like—

Wheeljack cut off that stream of thought quick enough it left logic trees dangling, and almost fell over in his scramble to get off the berth. 

"What are you—" Starscream twisted to look at Wheeljack, confusion quickly morphing into something darker. "Fine, I get it."

Wheeljack was kneeling on the floor. He thought about standing up, but it didn't seem like something he could manage right now. "Starscream, I'm so drunk."

Starscream looked away. "You don't have to make excuses."

"I'm drunk." Wheeljack couldn’t stop himself from explaining. "And I let myself into your room with the keycard I made you give me and started climbing all over you—"

Starscream's expression was only getting darker. "Yes, yes, I understand. You're sending out all the wrong signals. What a hilarious misunderstanding. You didn't mean to act like you _liked_ me."

"I do like you," said Wheeljack

"But not like that," said Starscream. "I _get_ it. Frag off, I don't want you here anymore."

"Okay, I'll go." Wheeljack tried to get up again, but his legs weren't working properly.

"Oh, I see, this is just is what you wanted." Starscream's optics flashed. "Gotta make nice with Screamer, right? Listen to him whine, pat his back, hope he'll hurry it up and give you an excuse to leave—"

"Do you want me to stay?" Wheeljack's processor couldn't keep up. It kept skipping back a few minutes, back to the feel of Starscream's plating pressed against his thighs. _He keeps pushing_. "Whatever you want. But if you want me here, you have to say. I can't stay unless you ask me."

Somehow, that was even more the wrong thing to say. Starscream pushed himself up from the berth, teeth bared and talons flexing. "I'm not going to beg for you."

"I'm not asking—Starscream, I'm _not_." Wheeljack finally succeeded in standing. More or less. Alright, it was more of a hunch over the berth, but at least it put him at optic level with Starscream. "I just don't want to push you into something because you're trying to keep me happy, or—"

"Believe me," growled Starscream, "I'm not the least interested in keeping you happy."

"I don't want to be like him," said Wheeljack. "I don't want to be another Megatron for you."

For a moment, Starscream's face was totally blank. Then he launched himself off the berth, hands reaching out to grab Wheeljack by the throat.

At first Wheeljack was totally preoccupied with trying to keep himself alive and unmaimed. But after the initial shock, Wheeljack realized that surviving was much easier than it should have been. Starscream was certainly trying to scratch and bite at him, but his attacks lacked commitment. Wheeljack even managed to catch each of Starscream's wrists, holding Starscream's talons away from anywhere they could do damage.

It was bizarre. Over the vorns Wheeljack had watched Starscream escalate a lot of fights from verbal to physical. No one else had ever been able to hold Starscream off alone. Wheeljack tried to look more closely at Starscream's face, while Starscream tried to knee Wheeljack in the stomach.

Starscream's optics were flickering on and off. His vocalizer was hitching too, worse than before, bad enough that Wheeljack couldn't make out whatever Starscream was trying to say in between the bursts of static.

"Shh, Starscream, try to calm down," said Wheeljack, and Starscream spat at him and tried to headbutt him in the optic.

"I'm listening, I'm listening," said Wheeljack. "But your processor is glitching. Your optics shouldn’t be strobing like that, not since I fixed them.”

Starscream growled, one optic off, the other optic dimmed. Wheeljack tried to cudgel his processor into working. What was the difference in symptoms between a stress-induced glitch and a stress-induced spark attack? He’d looked this up less than a cyberweek ago, in a fit of pessimism. What did it mean if the patient was going non-verbal?

Starscream’s fans shut off, but his plating was searing hot. Wheeljack decided he couldn’t wait to be sure. “Starscream, look at me. I need you to use the editing subroutines, do you understand?"

Starscream shook his helm, still struggling. Wheeljack wasn't sure if he was refusing or if he really just couldn't understand what Wheeljack was saying.

"Use the program I wrote for you." Wheeljack tried to keep his voice steady and soothing, even though his arms were shaking with the effort of holding Starscream back. "Just for a second. Just to give your frame a moment to cool down and reset. And then once your frame is back under control, you can pull the memories out of archive and try to kill me properly."

Starscream shook his helm again. His optics were completely off now, and his fans were loud enough that Wheeljack had to raise his voice to be heard. "Okay, that's okay." Wheeljack tried not to panic, because two panicking mechs wouldn't help anything. "But I think you're starting to overheat, so if you don't want to use the subroutines then I think I need to get you help. In three nanokliks I'm going to let you go and go over to the door, okay? And I'll comm—" Wheeljack hesitated, trying to think of anyone Starscream might actually want him to comm. He desperately wished Thundercracker was at this competition instead of that fragging satellite event in Rodion. "I'll comm Windblade, okay?"

Starscream didn't respond.

"One," said Wheeljack, slowly and clearly. "Two."

Starscream slumped into his arms.

"I'm so fragging drunk," Wheeljack told him, desperately, agonized. He felt cold and sober, except that both his processor and his frame were moving through syrup and his spark was pounding like it wanted to burst out of his chest. Wheeljack pressed his palm to Starscream's chest plate, and he could feel Starscream's spark still warm under its layers of protection, its pulse evening under Wheeljack's hand. Then Starscream's optics lit, and Wheeljack could breathe again.

Starscream looked up at Wheeljack, the suspicious glare surprisingly less effective when Wheeljack was only a few inches away from Starscream's face. "Why are we on the floor?"

"Good question," said Wheeljack. "Let's get you back on the berth."

It took some maneuvering, since they were both pretty unsteady, but finally they made it onto the berth, propped against the headboard with as much space as Wheeljack could manage between them. Given Starscream's wingspan, that wasn't much space—Wheeljack had to lean at an awkward angle to avoid pressing up against Starscream's wing.

"How are you feeling?" asked Wheeljack.

"I've just lost three joors," said Starscream, blankly. "The editing subroutines are active, and they’ve archived _three joors_."

"Yeah, it's been a pretty bad night," said Wheeljack. "You were glitching, your systems looked like they were shutting down, and all I could think of was to engage the editing program and let your frame reboot."

"I think it worked." Starscream looked Wheeljack up and down, gaze lingering on the scuffmarks on Wheeljack's windshield. "You're drunk."

"I know." Wheeljack drummed his fingers on the scuffmarks. "You should probably look at those archived memories."

"Do I want to do that?" Starscream glanced away. "Usually I don't."

"Don't want to?"

"Don't look."

Wheeljack swallowed a comment about how the editing subroutines were meant to be used. Starscream hadn't taken the first five versions of that lecture well—no sense adding a sixth.

Starscream finally met Wheeljack's optics. "Do you want me to look?"

Wheeljack wavered. It was so, so tempting. Just write this night off as a loss. Start fresh tomorrow, no fight hanging over them.

But he wasn't drunk enough to think that was a good idea.

"I fragged up," said Wheeljack. "I fragged up, but I don't know how. If you can look at your memories and tell me, I'll do my absolute best to never do it again."

Starscream didn't say anything.

"You don't have to do it now," said Wheeljack. "You don't have to do anything. Frag, tell me to leave. Or, or fire me, or just—"

Starscream leaned over and put his hand over Wheeljack's mask. It didn't actually _do_ anything, but Wheeljack shut up anyway.

"Only one of us is allowed to panic," said Starscream.

"Yeah," mumbled Wheeljack. "Figured it was my turn."

Starscream didn't move his hand, so Wheeljack could feel his fingers tense when Starscream opened his archives. His talons slipped over the edge of Wheeljack's mask and bit into Wheeljack's cheek, just enough to sting.

Wheeljack had programmed the editing subroutines to delete the emotional content before archiving any memories. For a little while Starscream had modded the program to delete the memories entirely, but lecture number three had at least convinced Starscream that archiving the bare facts would be useful for coaching purposes. Now Starscream could go back with the safety of detachment. 

But Starscream's fans still sped up a little, and he turned away so Wheeljack couldn't see if his optics were flickering again.

"Starscream?" asked Wheeljack.

When Starscream finally spoke, his vocalizer didn't hitch at all. "It wasn't my fault."

"Right, one hundred percent my fault—"

Starscream pushed against Wheeljack's mask, talons digging in. "It wasn't my _fault_. It wasn't my fault he did it, it wasn't my fault I didn't tell him no, it wasn't my fault he fragging left."

Wheeljack surged up, hands reaching for Starscream. He managed to stop himself from pulling Starscream into a hug, but not before Starscream flinched back, letting go of Wheeljack's mask.

"I don't want Megatron." Starscream's clenched his fist, pressing his talons into his own palm. "Not like he was at the end. I don't want you to be him."

"No, no, no!" Wheeljack tried to figure out what to do with his hands if he couldn't touch Starscream. "That's not what I meant. I'm _so_ drunk. I'm so sorry."

Starscream choked out a laugh that was marginally better than his previous efforts. “He’s sorry too. He’s _changed_ , haven’t you heard? He’s so much better now that he isn’t around me, now that I’m not making him act like—"

Wheeljack made a noise. He wasn’t sure where the noise came from. It sounded like gears caught in an engine, like running over a pothole at full speed. Starscream stopped talking, optics wide and fans whining.

“If you tell me who said that to you,” said Wheeljack, “I’ll pour bleach in their tank.”

Starscream’s fans spun down a notch. “They don’t _say_ it. I just hear it anyway.”

"You were right the first time," said Wheeljack. "It’s his fault, not yours. Anything Megatron did to you is on him. But, frag, Starscream, anything I do to you is on me. Do you get that? And I can't hurt you. I can't, I can't do it."

"I know, you won't," muttered Starscream.

"I kind of just did," said Wheeljack. "Showing up drunk, letting my vocalizer run ahead of my processor. I keep pushing at you, I keep making you do things you don't want to and putting myself where you don't want me."

Starscream muttered something.

"Just tell me what you want," said Wheeljack. "Whatever you actually want."

Starscream mumbled something again, and Wheeljack found himself leaning closer so he could hear it.

"Starscream?"

"I want you!" snarled Starscream, turning to shove Wheeljack back into the headboard. "I want you here, and I want you to keep being nice to me, and I wish you'd kiss me except I know you're only here in the first place because my coaching just barely outweighs every other fragging thing about me, and—"

Wheeljack kissed him, pressing his mask against Starscream's lips. It only lasted for a nanoklik before Starscream pulled away, and Wheeljack prepared for everything to blow up in his face. But then Starscream climbed into Wheeljack's lap, optics shining, and pulled Wheeljack's face up for another, longer kiss.

“You’re more than just a coach,” said Wheeljack. The best thing about not having a mouth was that you didn’t have to stop kissing if you wanted to say something.

Starscream drew back half an inch, leaning his helm against Wheeljack’s. “I’m the best coach.”

“Yeah.” Wheeljack wrapped his arms around Starscream’s waist. “You’re more than that too.”

\---

_"Why do you want to coach at Metroplex?" asked Starscream. His expression was interesting. Kind of bored and hopeful and suspicious all at once. Wheeljack tried to think of an answer that would bring hopeful to the fore._

_"I like the idea of a neutral club." Wheeljack leaned forward, looking into Starscream's optics. "A real neutral club, one with Autobots and Decepticons and any other fencers we can find, all training together. I want to see what fencing could be like if we weren't trying to kill each other."_

_Starscream's mouth twisted. "You might as well start your own club, then. I'm not exactly known for my conciliatory nature."_

_"Nah." Wheeljack shrugged. "I want to work here. I want to see what you'll build. I think I can help make it something good."_

_Starscream's talons tap tap tapped on the table between them. "I'm obnoxious. I'm a liar. I'm probably starting this club as a complicated revenge plot against Megatron."_

_"I know," said Wheeljack. "I trust you. And whatever, he deserves it.”_

_Starscream looked at Wheeljack like he’d just invented a brand new sabre attack. “Say that again.”_

_“Which part?” asked Wheeljack._

_“All of it.” Starscream propped his face in his hands, his lips curving into a smile. “Again and again and again. You’re hired, by the way.”_

\---

Wheeljack woke to Starscream's hand running up and down his chest plate. For a second Wheeljack thought they needed to get up, that this was Starscream’s way of waking him. Then he pulled up his chronometer and realized it was almost exactly the middle of the night.

Wheeljack covered Starscream’s hand with his own. “Can’t recharge?”

Starscream shrugged. He’d gotten up at some point, after Wheeljack had passed out, and washed off his temp paint. The dark circles of nanite decay under his optics didn’t look great. Not awful, but not great.

“You can use the subroutines, if you’re having trouble shutting down,” said Wheeljack. “That’s what they’re for.”

Starscream made a face. He rubbed his fingers over Wheeljack’s chest plate again, sending a pulse of heat to Wheeljack’s spark.

Wheeljack was pretty sure both of them were too exhausted to follow through on that heat, but his frame had other ideas. Wheeljack had been too drunk to do more than kiss earlier, but now he was sober—sober _ish_ —and everything felt like it was lighting up at once, begging to be touched. Wheeljack shifted, angling his windshield up as Starscream brushed against it. “Hey, do you want to—”

Starscream mumbled something that didn’t sound like a come on.

Wheeljack regretfully shifted gears. “What was that?”

“Sorry,” muttered Starscream.

“For what?” Primus, Wheeljack was pretty sure he was still drunk. This conversation hadn’t even lasted a full klik and he was already lost.

“I scratched your glass.” Starscream pushed Wheeljack’s hand away and pressed a kiss to the spot. “And I dented your hip. And—”

“I’ll clean up in the morning.” Wheeljack put his hand on Starscream’s helm, running his thumb over the ridges. “No big deal, you were just mad.”

“I remember.” Starscream rubbed the tiny dent in Wheeljack’s hip. “I don’t remember being mad, but I remember what I did.”

“As a Starscream experience, it was like a three out of ten,” Wheeljack assured him. “Don’t worry about it. You threw a bigger fit when I lost the remote for a club scorebox.”

Starscream made a frustrated noise. “Stop—stop _letting it go_. I hurt you, I’m trying to take responsibility. You’re not the only one allowed to do that. You’re not the only one who thinks about things.”

“Okay, okay.” Wheeljack slid his hand down to Starscream’s neck. “I accept your apology.”

“Thank you.” Starscream curled in, molding himself to Wheeljack’s side. His fingers kept rubbing over the dent.

A klik went by, two, three. Wheeljack was still exhausted. Starscream didn’t show any sign of powering down.

“What are you going to do about it?” asked Wheeljack.

“Hm?”

“It’s good you’re taking responsibility.” Wheeljack’s hand drifted down again, to the base of Starscream’s wings. “What are you going to do to make sure it doesn’t happen again?”

Starscream didn’t say anything for a long time. But he didn’t pull away, either. “I called Megatron’s therapist,” he said at last. “Rong. Rang. Whatever. He suggested another practice close to Metroplex.”

“Did you call them?” 

“I’ll do it tomorrow.” Starscream pressed his face against Wheeljack’s neck. "Who'd you see at the youth tournament?" 

Wheeljack groaned. "I'll tell you in the morning."

"I can't recharge." Starscream’s breath was warm against Wheeljack’s cabling, sending another pulse of heat to Wheeljack’s spark. "Tell me now. You were very excited."

"Excited isn't the word I'd use."

Starscream hummed, pulling Wheeljack closer with the leg he'd draped over Wheeljack's thighs. "I’ll leave you alone if you tell me."

Wheeljack weighed the risks and benefits, and decided he was too drunk and sleepy to do any kind of calculations. "Prowl was there with his kids. One of them won the whole shebang."

Oh, and there was the increasingly familiar pinprick of Starscream's claws against Wheeljack's plating. It was starting to feel kind of nice, actually.

"He's _banned_ ," hissed Starscream.

Wheeljack off-lined his optics. "Apparently the Galactic Federation forgives a little more quickly than Cybertron does." 

"Where did he even find students? Did he delude some poor guardian into—"

"I'm pretty sure he _made_ them." Wheeljack had been trying to avoid thinking about that. "He'll probably be around tomorrow if you want to ask. Maybe we can get drinks and catch up, or—"

"I don’t think you should have another cube of high grade for the rest of the season.” Starscream sounded fond, but he also sounded like he meant it. “Especially not around Prowl.”

"Good point," said Wheeljack. "But the rest of it?"

Starscream made a non-committal noise. His hand stroked over Wheeljack's chest again.

"Think about it," said Wheeljack. "You can tell me what you want tomorrow."

**Author's Note:**

> I really appreciate any comments on this weird series, so please do let me know if you're reading. You can also [share the fic post on tumblr](http://neveralarch.tumblr.com/post/180054774739/corps-%C3%A0-corps-neveralarch-the-transformers) if recs are your thing.


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